Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.

Site Wide Plots

Kaos :: The Beginning of the End☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.

Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.

☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.

Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.

Doppleganger Plot☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.

ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.

Cotm

Character of the Month for
June, 2017

WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!

Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.

The evening was bright, beautiful with a single, clear star illuminating the land. All manner of creatures, great and small, seemed to converge upon the Thistle Meadow where birds and squirrels took to a great tree. Very carefully, they wrapped the trunk and branches it beads of silver and gold, hanging pine cones and other painted things upon the tips. At the very top of the tree sat a noble phoenix, fiery and lovely, a living star.

You come to see what this phenomenon is all about. The Giving Tree is a special place, they say. It may not appear every year, but when it does, peace prevails - if only for a little while.

What lays under this giving tree is just for you, only on this special day.

Merry Christmas Helovia :3
The Giving Tree is a special little holiday cheer.

Admin roll dice for those who come mingle by the tree to decide on prizes.

*You may only enter active characters (3-5 posts over the last 4 weeks)
*You may write a post for each active character you have
*This ends at 12:00pm CST (tonight!)

What was this? I had traveled through the Thistle Meadow in order to approach the Deep Forest after I had made certain that no more Asylum members were left to lurk in the Marsh after that strange cloud of darkness had begun to take over.

And you have done well, mein kleine. Innerste whispered, a soothing tone left in her voice as I shuffled my feet onward, moving in a little bit closer. This tree, it was so different - so strange. How on earth could it attract so many animals to one tree? And how were they decorating it? Were those beads silver and gold? And pines didn't naturally grow on that tree, so they must be hanging them there, right? Then painted objects were hung, and for some reason a phoenix was acting as a tree-topper.

Was it beautiful? Yes. Did it make any sense? No. And so I continued to move forward - all of the souls surrounding the tree were calm, quiet, at ease. It was that which confused me even more and so I stopped at the base of the tree, eyes sliding from each of the animals as they continued to scuttle around and decorate the tree even more.

Perhaps there is a gift for you, mein puppe? Wouldn't that be gracious, a lovely gift for you? Schwere said, grand images of war related things being flashed across my brain as he thought of all the ways he could make me rule - make me his lethal weapon to pull the strings of.

Through the present day she travels, alone. It often scares her, wandering alone. But at the same time she enjoys it, for she has time to think her life through. At this moment, however, all thoughts have been erased, and peace has finally found her. A glimmer of light catches her eye, and she raises her glass crown to examine it. A single star radiates light upon the land, brightest of them all. Brother Night has given a sign to mortals, a sign that shows the dawning of a new era, a dawning of peace. The girl's pace quickens, but she does not gallop for fear her fragile body will crack and shatter. She takes herself into a canter, something safer for a horse like her.

She is upon this massive tree now, gazing eye to eye with the giant monster. It is tall, taller than her, and covered in assorted items. Pine cones were hung, gold and silver strewn over the tree. Animals had gathered to contribute an ornament upon the tree, making the girl wonder. Never had she seen anything like this before, with animals hanging trinkets upon branches. The tree wasn't ordinary, it gave off an aura of peace, tranquility. Despite all the fear and unhappiness within her heart, this magic found the seams and closed them for a moment.

Waltzing around the tree, the girl nearly collides with another mare, quite startled by her. She was dark, her face and body painted in a bloody red. Eating away at her skull was a white marking, mostly covered by her dark hair. Looking her up and down with her stained orbs, she sees the mare is almost like her, for she has a glass horn and glass hooves. A gentle gasp is carried through the wind before the girl sinks back, away from the mysterious mare. She retreats to her own side of the tree, bending her head down to peer beneath the giant. It was dark down there, for the light of the phoenix did not strike the tree's underside. A gentle smile shimmers upon her lips as light reflects from her fragile body and beneath the tree. What did she see?

The Meadow was but a stones toss from the Throat, and as my voice was gone in the air to allow me time to grieve with the ability of sight, I figured that moving out of the herd land would be an intelligent idea.

The colours were bright, the vivid hues of the night as one star illuminated the lands with a creme glow. The crisp air was wafting around my limbs, giving me a bit more pep than I have had in the past few days of this travel. But, the main reason I had been heading this way was that I could feel a different type of vibration the closer I got to the Meadow. I had planned on going back towards the threshold, to see if I could catch a glimpse of another hawk - to figure out if there was actually a wall around the border or not. Alas, as I went to skirt around the edge of the Meadow I could feel something, very vaguely, but something. And so, I headed in.

What I saw next seemed to be some sort of miracle. The creatures were surrounding the tree, each and every one of them trying to wrap the trunk with breads of silver and gold. Some were hanging delicate shapes of pine cones and objects painted in a brilliance of colours. And then there was the phoenix. It burned such a vibrant orange fire that cast shadows around the tree from all of the animals.

It was awe-inspiring. It was gorgeous, but alas I could not vocalize these words. One gentle twist of my head as I glanced back to the glowing marking situated upon my haunch and a brush of my nose. My hawk would have enjoyed this, the meeting of all of the animals, getting to fly around and tease them as he had done to I.

Quickly, I shook my head, forcing the tears away that were blurring my vision at this point in time. I could feel my body tensing as some of the salty liquid slid down my cheeks. Perhaps... just perhaps I don't need to travel all the way to the Threshold, perhaps I'll stop here, rest fro a while, and bask in the beauty of the tree.

A weight settles within the Nightingale's soul. It grasps, drags, tugs forth worries, anxieties, fretful ideals that dance among obscured corridors and lengthened halls within the very clockwork of her mind. It extends into her bones, her swaying slow dance across the ballroom of existence, burns her, scalds her with heat so agonizing that she is shocked and aghast to find flames have not licked up to kiss her clammy flesh. Illness does not plague her, however somber her mood, and despite the holiday festivities the Nightingale finds herself to be (remorsefully) unable to frolic amidst the laughing, guffawing crowds, the children that play tag across the sodden Earth, the quiet couplings beneath sheltered trees, gentle tugs upon harks and soft lyrics in the hidden, forsaken areas of the backbone of the land beneath her hooves.

Ah. But of course, you would want to know why, no?
Allow her to explain herself, the tiniest bit more, doll. She's getting there.

When the woman came to these lands, she was met by the angelic frame of a soldier, dappled black and ashen, alabaster, glacier ice from the farthest away ocean's, the very arctic itself, and followed him forth into the darkness that swallowed her, ensnared her as the fly against the web of a spider, damned and hopeless, accursed to the dripping fangs and starving stomach of the insect of prey that has gathered a successful hunt. The expectation she was given from the soldier gave her the enthusiastic and utter impression that the world in which she hath entered was not so unlike the world in which she has crawled from, of majesties and civilizations, cities, palaces carved from the stone beneath cobblestone roads for the Queen and the King's alone to gain entry into.
She was, as one would assume based upon logic, dazed when she was brought to that of a swamp littered and festering with the dead. Maggots fed upon the bodies of the long-forgotten, shadows crept along the contours of one's visions as if they indeed survived, and the dead gathered unseen in the midst of the living to gaze with hunger in their lifeless pearls upon the souls that intruded upon their slumbers, ripe for the picking, if only the mistake of a hoof in muddy water's would occur.
She was, even more so, alarmed when the insane came forward from the shadows, crafted from chaos itself, and gave her the title of Seeker.

And most of all, she was frightened by the notion of affection that boiled up within the glass-captured heart, beating as frantic as the wings of birds beneath the cage of her bosom, the flesh that had become iron bars against the cruelties of the outside world. She had grown far from these things, these petty state's of mentality that often drove the sane to their doom. It was illogical. It was foolish. She was the opposition of such things, the voice of reason, the cunning grin beneath a cowled hood.
She had dwelled among the most intriguing of scientific discoveries for so very long that the Nightingale found the sane as but pawns, toy figurines among the glory that was the Asylum. All that mattered was the ability to find out what made them tick and then the Nightingale could tear down the very walls and palaces built up around the fragile bud that was their mind, raw and unfiltered, and she had yet to gather the essentials (a good brain, a willing or unwilling subject in which to test her theories upon) to do so, although she twisted and sang and all but killed herself to see how, and in which ways if so, mortal's could be mutated to absorb her lyrics, and do her bidding in the process. Finding a new homeland was essential for the process to take place, for the dirtied landscape of the Marsh was no hospital, no place to sit a cranium upon the ground, and no place to examine organs to find out what quite made them work. She was certain if a brain was laid in all it's splendor upon the quagmire's surface, a greedy hand of the undead would reach upward to steal it from her grasp before she could make proper assessments based upon her gained knowledge.

No, the Nightingale found the land of the undead repulsive, disgusting, vile as one may find another's vomit sickening to the stomach. She had yearned, craved, desired the taste of freedom from the darkened land so very much, that she had neglected to count one's blessings.
It was taken from them in one sweep of the unknown.

Thanatos sent forth his shades upon them, took the very landscape that they had sweated and worked for from beneath the steady suction of their hooves.
It was true, the Marsh had been no palace, no Kingdom, no civilization in which one should live (or wish to) if they cared, any minuscule amount, for the well being of their frames.
But it had been home, somewhere along the line in which she had traveled, it had become her home.

And as all things do, when they come in contact with her flesh, it had withered, and died, crumbled as the delicate petals of a spring flower cast into the raging force of the Heart.
It was inexplicable. And it had left them homeless.
Would it be so surprising, if she dug and fought her way into the encased, bloodied red muscle beneath obsidian and alabaster sinew, and found that she was just the same as she had been so many years before? Would it be so shocking, to find that she, the Nightingale, was still the same young girl that had trembled and gazed upon the lifeless body of the corpse she had so elegantly murdered, the corpse that had given her life?

No.
It would not be so shocking.
Not at all.

She had followed the cardinal that flew above her dome, stained as sanguine as the fluids that came from her veins, as cursed as she with the blood of those whom had fallen to the Witch. Oh, the Nightingale could scrub and roll in as much water and as many hyacinths as she wished, but no river, no childish flower would cleanse the splattering of red she saw each time her reflection met her indigo pearls. Perhaps it was odd she found it so bemusing to observe. Perhaps it was leading her to her death, to burn among the flames she had, no doubt, created from some.. fiction of her tormented mind.

And so here she was. Beneath the branches of a silver and aureate laden tree, beneath the squirrels and cardinal that had called it home, the flocks of birds that had come forth, the phoenix that sat regally atop the branches of the Great Tree, she stood, awestruck, amazed.
She registers the sight of her blood-stained Queen, if only for the faintest of moments.
A quiet, exhausted prayer trembled forth from her mind, not in speech, not in words.

Please. Keep us safe. And then, softly, as gentle as the brush of a downy bird's feathers—
"Amen."

Out of the shadows he came, his steps long, head bend and wings tightly against his black body. What had drawn him here, he did not know, but something inside him urged him forward. Light danced off his black skin and as he stopped, he raised his head to take in the surroundings. It was massive, beautiful and almost not real, the tree that he saw.

Even though this was all to scary, he did not flee. No. This was too beautiful to run away from. His feet carried him almost to the base of the tree, where he stopped and took in the sight one more time. What was this? Was it..a new start? A blessing? An answer to all his hopes and dreams? He did not have the heart to believe in such things, but hope does not die without a fight.

His body suddenly relaxed and a little smile crept into his face as he drew his gaze upwards. The phoenix. The animals. Silver and gold. He would carry this sight to his last day and beyond. "Thank you" he whispered as he lowered his head to the point where his forehead rested against the tree. "Thank you for showing me that beauty still exist and that it is worth fighting for"

Silk heaved his body through the night. It was late, and though he enjoyed his nocturnal adventures, tonight the Sandman had left his dust upon the stallion's eyelids. All the same, Silk had heard a commotion in the Thistle Meadow, a place he had yet to visit during the day. His blood red eyes were lit with the magic of the night, and as he approached the sounds and gathering, he saw a large tree rising up before him. Birds, squirrels, and other critters had decorated it with lights of fireflies and ornaments. A bright phoenix was at the top of the giant tree, resting upon the top of the pines. Silk's eyes lit up with admiration, and he thought to himself how lovely it would be to have such a beautiful companion like that. As he watched the gathering, equines that he knew and didn't know - he felt the cockles of his heart warm slowly. Something about the evening was just perfect, and in spite of his sometimes grumpy attitude, he found himself pleased at the gathering, the beautiful night and tree so alight and decorated.

It's beautiful... He said quietly to himself. And he lowered his dark body to the ground, tucking his tattered wings in against his body, and enjoyed the cool earth as he looked on.

Away from his home the stallion wanders through the Meadow, body bitter and sore from his recent fight. Wounds are scabbing over, his body appearing in a tattered fashion. Slinking through the night, the rusty steed finds himself before a shimmering radiance. An explosion of light erupts through his retinas, his pupils dilating so that he can see correctly. Blinking, the Foothills warrior races towards the source of light.

As he slows his pace, he finds a gathered few horses standing before a tree. None of them had he seen before, they were all strangers in his mind. A smile flickers across his dark kissers as the zephyr's light sends tranquility through his body. The tree is decorated beautifully, pine cones painted in assorted hues shimmer in the gold and silver light. Animals from every direction gather, submitting trinkets of their own to the tree. Locket is baffled, for this is a new tradition to him. Had there always been a tree like this before? Certainly not, for he would've remembered. He sees others offered items from the tree, an odd glass mare gifted an egg. Perking his ears, he steps forward past the two newly gathered.

He examines the gathered horses that are still here, one of them a pale mare with a shimmering marking upon her thigh. One of the only stallions here was a dark, bulky male with large wings growing from his shoulders. Three unicorns were gathered besides himself. The one that was gifted an egg, a glass maiden, one that was black and laced with white markings, and a bay with red and white accents. He barely made out the strange dark stallion with bat wings.. Turning his head away from the others, he awaits for the trees response. Was this a gift from the Gods? he wondered, eyes flickering again to the brightly lit phoenix perched at the very top of the tree, illuminating all around it.

"talk talk talk"

And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.

He follows his mother’s instruction, and looks upon the tree decorated for an occasion that has escaped his attention. He does not understand what has gotten into the creatures of the forest, of the wilderness and the great, great tangled knolls to come here, to this tree, and adorn it in all manners of things. It is a sentiment lost on the prince-- his happiness comes within the moment of movement, and it is quickly lost. He does no reflect; there is no basking for him.

Yet the tree is seen as a jewel, and he does covet it. He leaves the warmth of his mother’s side and approaches the tree, his eyes wide like a child’s should be, his wonder in evidence to match the fleeting childhood age he resides in. For a moment, there is no bitterness. It is consumed by childish avarice, a magpie’s desire for the glistening riches that the tree displays. His steps are slow yet steady, he comes close to the trunk, reaching forward with is muzzle to gently touch the silver that splays about like fur. It tickles his nose; he jerks back from it, confused by it, enchanted.

*“Reginald.”*

He answers his mother’s call, skittering back to her side just as her head and neck descends over him, covering him, pulling him close to her side once again. *“Is it not lovely?”*

He deliberates for only seconds. “It is,” he decides, his whispers only for her, “I like it, mother.” He sighs and presses his face against her side again, still tired, still angry with these crowds of people invading in his homeland. “Make them go away, mother,” he says drowsily against her, feeling her breath rustle his sparse mane. “I hate them.”

The Engineer had taken his journey for metal hunting to the south, way down below in the meadows. He thought he may be able to find some gold in the river bed, but what he did not expect to find was a gathering around a tree. He watched quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he caught their scents. A tree, decorated will all sorts of temptingly shiny things, caught his eye, and he also saw the way it... pushing things to everyone.

Free stuff? Hell yeah, he would take free stuff.

Maybe the tree would give him metal for his sentinels. Wouldn't that be grand? He could return to the Basin with such good news for Illynx. Pure intentions right? Wanting to make someone else happy? Forget that the metal was to create two, massive killing machines... We can just ignore that part, especially for right now.

As the sunlight rose from behind the tree, Ulrik decided to venture a little closer, trying to slip quietly and unnoticed. He hated the hornless and other foul creatures here, and he hoped that no one would recognize him. Now, he wished he was about half his size and not quite so distinctive; he was hard to miss with his gigantic beard, lion tail and tribal marking. Still, he waited by the tree quietly, ears tilted to the side as he tried to pick up on soft conversations.

Nothing interesting. Boring, simple creatures.

Still, the hum drum drone of meaningless conversation was almost soothing.

A single, bright star was his guide that particular eve; and a speck of white was its twin sister, an owl with silver painted upon her wings. The light dwarfed all the other stars, dwarfed his memory of the moon, and somehow cast the pre-winter darkness into something resembling light—every gilded leaf turned argent. Peace had settled upon the sea of lavender, frost-lined stalks gleaming like little crystals and their frozen crowns grayed out. It was beautiful, almost like snow, except.. without the snow. He snorted faintly under his breath, white rising like a salutation to the bright star, and he kept following its light. Any other direction but the one it pointed him in seemed duller, darker somehow. Sometimes the most fantastical things happened when you followed your heart—or so they said. He really hadn't tried that often.

Soon, he became aware of his destination. Irma canted her wings down, dropped like a falling star from the navy depths of the sky; she made a rude swipe towards a robin, but veered away with an oddly light-hearted screech. Mauja was baffled. It was probably the first time Irma had gone after something without the intention of actually killing it.

The robin winged away with a mildly affronted look, but Irma simply laughed within her mind. It had never been in any danger from the snowy predator, who, instead, simply settled for grabbing a silvered cone off the ground and taking it into the sky. Mauja shook his head at her, and trotted up to the old, thick tree. Others had already converged there, and some he recognized—Locket, mostly, whom he gave a nod to in passing, and then he spotted Silk and Circuta as well. Still, he did not feel particularly social, despite the overall mood of calm. Instead, as Irma bickered in a bird's way (mostly by jostling her wings) with some of the smaller avians while putting up her deocration, he approached the base of the ancient tree, touching one of its roots fondly.

Sometimes he wondered, if peace wouldn't be so bad.

But then he always remembered that his restless soul had teeth.

And Ulrik was standing nearby. Definitely not the time to contemplate peace. His heart skipped a beat; he didn't want a confrontation now. He didn't want to search his soul for answers now.

Ironically, all he wanted was some damned peace on this night. From everyone—himself included.

The Giving Tree is fair and kind to those who patiently wait by her side.

To SATANIC SILK the giving tree gives four amulets in a variety of types and colors.
- Four amulets (you can choose the type!)

To LOCKET the giving tree ensures that a companion will grow with speed and health.
- 2 month companion age jump

To REGINALD the tree sees that he's being a little bratty. Still, the giving tree passes along a special crown of her own branches, making him the king of the Giving Tree.
- A Giving Tree crown which will provide immunity to disease and other damage for the seasons of Orangemoon and Frostfall.

To ULRIK, the fiend. The Giving tree gives him quite the shock!
- Spark magic from wishlist (neo rolled for me)

To MAUJA, the winter king, the Giving Tree tosses and bough of holly with special properties.
- A Giving Tree Holly branch which will provide immunity to disease and other damage for the seasons of Orangemoon and Frostfall.

Dried leather, plates of glass to ignite and magnify the world, and slices of steel molded to hold all together. All of this clings to his dark face with a vengance, and while his head is flung every which directions for hours on end at times, he has to face the fact that it is stuck upon his bony skull. Inside those hours are voices to confuse his every thought and action, a darkness that takes forever to escape. Steps become like circles.
Given the chance and being a thought, it wouldn't take too much longer till he was as useful as a Swiss cow, walking in cirles just because one leg was longer than the rest.
He doesn't that now, a lot more than what would be expected and losing all comical acts to his depressing appearance, with ribs painting themselves beneath his dappled skin and shorted hair, gas mask glued firmly to a powerful head, he becomes like a zombied corpse, the living but truly the living dead, warning about aimlessly in the nights while his head is through about. Each and everyone of those who come across him like to stop and stare at him, to see if he shall fall to his knees and hear them snap and shattered beneath such weight. He needs to break like a frail China doll he seems to be, held together like a rag doll passed down to new daughters in a family that lacks enough money to purchase a true doll for their beautiful girl.
There is a social gathering within the meadow, and he comes in like a wrecking ball to crash their occasion.
That line would seem normal if only it hadn't been true.
See, Shajake was well along with this episode of head swinging. The leather strap attached to his neck goes about with him, and the pain that would fill his nerves with screams has faded with the warmth of Tallsun. A scar, a fairly large scar if I shall point it out, is now on his neck and there for all to view. It could recieve a few winces and cringes at the thought of how he came across such a dreadful sight. Blood lines it, a dark crust surrounding his stitched in rags.
Balance couldn't ever be described as a good aspect for him, his black legs tripping over themselves almost every day. Today, they couldn't keep off each other.
Coming down, he lands nearest the colt and it's mother, laying in grasses with mask still firmly held. There are others, he wants to see them with green eyes aglow and one ear alert to hear their voices. Instead, he remains hidden like he would normally do and waits for others.
There are always others, there always will be. They like to put dirty hands over everything beautiful like the tree he glimpsed, and he lays in wait like a predator to scare the jeepers out of them.

"talk talk talk"

“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .

So many had gathered around this tree...why? The stunning antlered mare wondered closer to the others that had gathered, her golden orbs round and alight with curiosity. Titling her head, The Impersonator studied the others that had come to look under the tree. Indeed, before she had been mistaken. It wasn't just Equines, Pegagus and Unicorns that had come to inspect the gifting tree. Other creatures had gathers and were scampering off with gifts as fast as their little legs could take them. Returing her gaze to the tree, Arah studied the beautiful decorations. They were wrapped around the trunk and branches were an amazing colour, with beads of silver and gold. The decorations also included hanging pine cones and other painted things upon the tips. At the very top of the tree sat a noble phoenix, fiery and lovely, a living star. As her eyes reached the phoenix, Arah mouth fell open slightly. She had never seen such a fascinating creature before. Chuckling, Arah closed her mouth but still continued to stare up at the phoenix in wonder. "Amazing." The comment was meant for anyone in particular, The Impersonator was truly just amazed by the phoenix.

As Arah continued to look around and watched the gifts being presented, it was a heartwarming sight too see. Smiling at no one in particular, Arah pressed forward, closer and closer so moved toward the tree. "This is absolutely the most spectacular tree I've ever seen..." Chuckling at the fact that she was pretty much just talking to herself, the ivory raven stop speaking out loud and came to stand next to a stallion.

I am still recovering from that damn hangover. But it was well worth it. A sloppy grin fills my face at the sweet thought of the taste of those apples... it had numbed my body better than any of the pain had and I had felt good. I still felt pretty good. Yet, I don't remember much and I pretty much have a wake of destruction in my path.

I'm such an ameteur.

Maybe Circe could teach me how.

I shrug my shoulders and prance my way forward. Who knows where I'm going, I can't even remember where I am or where I ended up.

Definitely something I had to do again.

My thoughts travel to Evers in the Threshold - still no Rita. I sigh and push it away. My head starts spinning so bad I have to stop. What the actual fuck happened. I should probably regret this. But I don't. I stumble my way through the tall reeds, purple flowers starting to pop up more and more. I lazily snatch one up and it does not feel too good. I wince, lowering my head as my golden orbs try and focus on the details of the thing I had eaten.

Gears creek and moan while slowly turning in my head. I swear smoke must be coming out of my ears.

It finally clicks and I never felt more proud of myself. Thistle Meadow. That's where I am. I continue on and I realize there are people gathering around something. Maybe another egg? Like the one I found at the beach? I meander my way towards them and my mind reels as I see a -glass- horse. What the hell did those apples do to me? It is then that I realize I recognize few. Locket, Arah and Circe. And Circe has a foal. A foal! "Oh!" I exclaim, golden eyes peering at the colt. He looks much like - or maybe not, my mind is still jello - the foal who got the egg at the beach. I smile at the pair. "He's wonderful. Congratulations." I murmur softly, words to tell her I miss her absence achingly locked behind my closed lips.

I nod to her and step up next to Arah, maw brushing her mane slightly with a slight smile. I then look at the fiery phoenix, my eyes twinkling up at the bird. My heart aches at the majestic and beautiful creature, only reminding me of all the times I had failed at getting a companion. I think I'm coming to realize that I am just unworthy.

But how will I fix that?

[ BASED AFTER SMITHER'S AMAZING POST OF HER GETTING DRUNK ON APPLES YEAAAAAH ]

She followed the heavens, the stars, the alignment and peace, the ghostly forbearance of divinity, truth, conviction and benediction, became an ethereal grace undaunted by the beauty, the magnificence, of all of these timely measures. A moth to a flame, brilliant, luminescent, scorching and searing amongst the midnight splendor and the convergence of silver, gold, ambrosia, honeyed, soothing tempers, repose and reverie captured by the plains of meadows and fields of crisp, autumn haze. Imogen followed, ivory sentiments riddled and unraveled into corporeal, tangible threads, and they roamed together, sonnets from the sky. Lured, beguiled, ensnared and enticed, the notion of temptation doesn’t beat or stroke against their heads, but the majesty, the wonder, the awe and inspiration from the tinkling, toiling bells and carols do - like precious whims and idle sands, everything splendid and finessed come to dance and dine amongst the thistle’s burden. They arrived behind many others, some recognized, and more so foreign and unknown, and the nymph’s eyes danced, coasted, glanced over the parties swarming to the tree, dazzled and perplexed as she. A shift of forms made her believe in hallucinations and mirages all over again, for there was a simple hide of pale complexion, a spotted juncture, an owl, that she thought could possibly be Mauja - her pace quickened, her stride lengthened, Imogen chirped in kind, but all is seemingly lost in the crowd; the pelt disappeared into the din and throng. Instead of pursuing (because if it wasn’t him, then she would appear an earnest fool, and if it had been his figure, he likely didn’t want to be noticed – wouldn’t he have come to see them if he wished of it?), the pair grew closer into the fortitude, the lights, the grandeur, the opulence, and she raised her face to the radiant, luminous phoenix roosting in the tree, wished, hoped, pleaded for the remnants of peace shattered across the air. A simple hum burst from her lungs, from her heart, proffering the songbird arias for another to chime along with.

I keep talking about this joke that floats around me all the time, and I’ve never really explained it, have I? Well, I’m not going to. I’ll keep you guessing, but in all honesty there’s not much to guess.

Whatever. I felt that joke in great evidence at that moment, as I wandered up to a gathering of a bunch of yahoos around this tacky tree that shone forth in its…entire majestic…tackiness. I snorted as I stood there, taking a moment to stare at it, completely nonplussed as to what the hell it was. I mean, obviously it was a tree, but I didn’t know what tinsel ‘n shit was, or what it was for, and neither had I ever seen a phoenix before and I didn’t understand the motivation behind painting a bunch of bitter, crunchy, shitty cones as though there was something to celebrate. What was there to celebrate?

I kept staring at it though, ‘cause it….well. It was weird and dumb and it made no sense at all, but I kept looking at the tree, at all the goldish stuff and the silverish stuff and the bright bird perched at the top, waiting to drop a merry shit on all of us at any moment. And my chest eased up from the bitter and this angry face I kept on at all times, because I was angry and confused and all that great stuff most of the time—but not right now. It trickled away from me, through my hooves, into the thistles and the dirt I stood on. I wasn’t happy, understand. I was…entranced.

It was that same wondrous sensation you get as a child, when you see something that you don’t understand but it’s cool as shit anyway, and you completely stop in your tracks and you lose your train of thought but it’s okay ‘cause you were probably thinking something dumb anyway, and you stand there in total amazement that something this awesome and shitty and inexplicable exists.

That was me, at that moment. There were people I knew, faces I had seen, that were already present—Mss Day Day and Teeny, and a couple of other nameless shadows I had known from my home in the ‘hills. I ignored them for the time being, ‘cause I was filled with wonder and I didn’t know what to do with it. I just…stood there. Vaguely thinking of things and people I missed—because I missed being a kid. Being a kid came with a whole lot of other perks that I missed too. Like Ma. And Bro.

There’s the joke again. I swear it’s in there if you look hard enough. speaking

Very few things tempted the Reaper from his iron, nonchalant gaze: his family, bloodshed, intrusions and war. Shiny lights were not enough to coax his trenchant sculpture away from the icy chambers of his homeland (nor was tinsel or phoenixes – unless they were going to somehow burn him or conjure memories of his father, never reborn or rejuvenated), and instead, it became inquiry, suspicion, intrigue played against his meticulous, diligent senses. As bodies roamed towards the massive timber, like a beacon, like a trance, like a swarming plague of luminescent bulbs and insects drawn to their final, frenzied breath, he followed, villainous and wary, studying, examining, straying towards the side, a silent, malicious witness. What enticed them there, beyond the shiny exterior, the radiant opulence, the hospitable grandeur? Did anything harpoon them, weaken their convictions, strengthen their ineptitude? Did they become mere quandaries, gaping blooms, warped and shriveled, scaled and decrepit? But as more gathered, he noted, one by one, none were hurt, maimed, or torn. They were enamored, heightened, gliding and whistling upon the horizon, granted things, objects of decorum, and even as he widened his nostrils, the beast couldn’t fixate upon what they’d managed to snag. A few souls he recognized clambered amongst the frenzy, Ulrik, the engineer and mechanic, Arah, their wily, trustworthy Impersonator, and he thought he pictured the wintry physique of Mauja, but the lights could have been troubling his sight. And still, he nearly wanted no part of it – were they asking for these things, or taking them from beneath the boughs – or was it beseeched to them based on actions, saintly vows and virtues? He’d committed none of these actions in the past, swirling seasons, and so, lingered along the outer rim, amongst the tapestries and shadows, a hushed, licentious creed of curiosity.